


trellis

by Spiesbian



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, but yall know where they end up, shitty field med care, the & is bc there's no actual romance in this besides some subtext
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 01:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18377837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiesbian/pseuds/Spiesbian
Summary: listen i'm sick rn so i'll come up with a good summary later, all you need to know right now is that some spy shit happens and also maybe some feelings.





	trellis

Curt did not care for Owen Carvour. Their first meeting was nothing less than a disaster for Curt and their relationship had not improved over their other collaborations. Owen seemed to think of Curt as something like a child, incompetent and only one slip up away from causing a national crisis. To be fair, Curt thought he was an arrogant, stuck up prick but if the shoe fits…

It did not help matters that Owen was in fact a very good spy. Curt may not be as bad as Carvour believed, but he couldn’t help but feel a little insecure at how well he handled a gun. That and the way his heart would beat a little faster when Owen smirked because he was actually really-

That was the end of that thought. Curt was already repressed enough, he didn’t need to be adding to those sentiments.

Which led them to now, as Curt tried to keep his eyes fixed to any point that was not Owen as he wiped the sweat from his brow, rising from his spot under the table.

“That should do it,” Owen huffed. “That’s five out of six rooms bugged.”

“And all of our required bugs, which means we can get out of here.” This was not the first time Curt had been at this particular Brazilian facility, and he was loathe to stay longer than he had to.

“Well just because the last one is optional doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do it,” Owen insisted. “You really think we’re not going to get valuable information from a bug in the weapons storage?”

“I’m _saying_ that it’s a big room so there’s no guarantee we’ll even pick up that “valuable information”, and it’s going to be morning soon which means more personnel, and more chances to get caught.”

“Morning in a few _hours_. This is the best chance we have to get all the listening devices we can into this place before they start stocking it with more guards to prepare for discussions with Russia.”

Curt threw up his hands. “Fine! But if we get caught and have to kill someone--which we’re not supposed to do for this mission, by the way-- _you’re_ the one who’s gonna take the blame on the report.”

“That’s fine by me.”

It didn’t take too long to get to weapons storage, thank god, but Curt was still on edge the whole time. Damn Owen and his thoroughness. 

Inside the storage area, there were crates stacked on top of each other, stamped with various labels for their contents. It wasn’t the biggest cache he’d ever seen, but it still wasn’t something to laugh at.

“What the hell happened here?” Curt kicked one of the splintered wooden boards that lay scattered across the ground.

“They must have dropped one of the crates during transport,” Owen speculated. “The cleaned up the contents and saved this stuff for later.”

“Pretty messy for a place that’s supposed to be tightly run.”

“Whatever, help me find a good place to put this bug.”

Surprisingly enough, the weapons storage did not seem to have any good places to set up the bug. The walls were featureless, and there weren’t any objects in the room besides the crates which didn’t exactly make a good option when they could be moved around at any time. 

“Hey Carvour, I just realized something,” Curt called after a minute or two.

“Yes?”

“This is a shitty idea.”

“Eat my-”

Owen was cut off by the obvious click of gun metal. They both looked to the door to find one of the guards pointing a pistol at them. They slowly raised their hands.

“I thought you memorized the patrol routes?” Curt asked cheerfully.

“I did but it seems that I lost track of the time.”

“Well, Cynthia’s going to _love_ that excuse.”

“Good thing Cynthia isn’t my handler, hm?”

“Both of you shut up,” the guard said with a heavy accent.

“Oh shit, he speaks English.”

“Yes, I speak English. Who are you and what are you doing here?”

Owen started to slowly lower his hands. “Listen, I’m sure we can work this out if you just-”

“Hands back up,” the guard snapped.

Curt’s eyes darted around the room for something that could get them out of this situation as Owen complied. They were two spies in a room full of weapons, there had to be something more coming out of this equation.

Okay, fuck it. “Jacob!” Curt shouted. The guard’s head snapped to look behind him, and Curt dove and yanked the gun out of his hands. The force of prying it away sent him stumbling back. The back of his head cracked against one of the crates, briefly stunning him. 

“Oldest trick in the book,” Curt wheezed. Owen pulled out his own gun from his jacket.

“Alright, nice job catching us, but we’ll be leaving now and we can’t let you know that we were here.” He glanced at Curt. “Don’t suppose that girl of yours invented a memory eraser?”

“Nope.”

“Damn,” Owen cursed. “Well, like I said before I’ll take the blame. The gunshot is going to notify any other security in the area so we’ll have to make a run for it, love.” He turned back to the guard.  
“Any last words?”

He grimaced, then slowly grinned. “Your safety is on.”

The moment of hesitation was just enough for the guard to scoop up the wooden board on the ground. Curt heard the _click_ as Owen panicked and tried to shoot, but lo and behold he hadn’t been bluffing. Working on pure instinct, Curt lunged forward and inserted himself between his partner and the plank that was now swinging directly towards him. 

It hit his ribs with a _crack!_ Curt cried out in pain, dropping the stolen gun. Owen finally turned off the safety and shot the guard between the eyes. 

“Are you-”

“I’m fine, we have to go,” Curt hissed. He started running without waiting for a response. “Why the hell was your safety off?”

“It’s called safety for a reason, it’s dangerous to keep an unlocked gun in a holster!” Owen followed close behind, quickly coming to the point where he was about to reach ahead of Curt due to the new stabbing pain in his chest.

They ran past guards, ignored the blaring of the alarm and the red lights flashing at every corner. Each step sent a jolt through Curt’s entire body, but he just kept repeating _we just need to get to the car_ in his head like a mantra.

By the time they had reached the car and Curt threw himself into the passenger seat, he felt like he’d just run a marathon. Breathing was impossible. Owen wasted no time throwing on the ignition and driving into the night like a bat out of hell.

He expected him to just keep driving until they reached the motel they had booked in the nearby city, but after a few minutes Owen pulled over onto the side of the road, unbuckled his seat belt and turned to Curt.

“What?”

“Take your shirt off.”

Oh, _fuck that_. “Wow, okay, you need to buy me dinner at least before we go to that level.”

“Don’t argue with me, I need to check your ribs and then I’ll leave you alone.”

“I’m not undressing in front of you,” Curt insisted. He needed something to have control over in this god damn situation.

“Will you stop being such a baby and let me check your fucking ribs?” Owen didn’t actually let him respond, already reaching over to try and pull off the t-shirt. Curt started struggling against him. He would have actually kicked Owen if it hadn’t been for the divider between them.

“Everything is fine-”

“Would you just…!”

“-I don’t need your help!”

“I’m just trying to-!”

“ _Stop it!_ ” Curt finally shouted. Owen froze, hands hovering inches away from the hem of his shirt.

An awkward energy hung in the air between them. “What’s wrong?” Owen’s voice didn’t sound accusatory for once, his tone taking on a gentleness that Curt had never heard from him before.

He didn’t answer, instead choosing to stare Owen down for everything he was worth. The British agent sighed, shifting closer to Curt.

“Listen, I know we’re not really on the best of terms with each other-”

“Oh, really?”

Owen made a frustrated noise. “What I’m trying to get at is that I just want to make sure if you’re okay. You didn’t…” He ran a hand back through his hair and sighed. “You didn’t need to take that hit for me, and if you hadn’t I would be the one in your place right now. It was a very noble action, and I appreciate it.”

“Okay…” Curt squinted at him. “Go on…”

“All I want to do is check to make sure that your ribs aren’t broken. If it’s just a fracture or bruising we can deal with it on our own but breaks are more serious.”

“Fine.” Owen looked almost surprised that Curt was agreeing. “But when we get back to the motel. I’m not taking off my shirt in this shitty car.”

He didn’t look too fond of this plan, but turned and started the car nonetheless. “Try to sit up as straight as you can.”

The ride back was silent and slow. Owen constantly drove at least half the speed of the limit. He knew he was just trying to be careful, but Curt still kind of resented him for handling him with kids gloves.

When the finally pulled up to their motel, a lot of the residual adrenaline had faded out of Curt’s system and his ribs hurt a lot more than they had before, and it had already been a lot to deal with. When he stood up outside a wave of nausea almost sent him to his hands and knees.

“Okay, okay.” Owen was somehow already at his side, a hand braced against his back. “Let’s get you inside.”

He wanted to spit some insult at him, but he didn’t. Hiding behind a shield of disdain wasn’t going to achieve anything right now, no matter how much Curt wanted to try and protect his pride. 

The motel room wasn’t much, but it never really was. Two beds and a nightstand with a lamp. They didn’t even have a singular chair in the corner this time. Owen sat him on the edge of one of the beds and hesitated.

“What are you doing?” Curt snapped. The pain was not putting him in a good mood.

“Is it okay if I take off your shirt now?”

Oh. “Yea, I said I’d let you do this.”

“Okay.”

Curt let him lift the shirt up and over his head. He looked at the wall to his left while long fingers gently brushed over his skin. 

“I’m going to push down, tell me how much it hurts,” Owen said. Curt nodded.

He winced as something prodded his side, a flare of pain accompanying it. “Doesn’t feel great.” The prodding went away for a couple seconds, then something that felt like a knife being pushed into his ribs. Curt forced himself not to shove Owen away. “Stop!”

It lifted, residual pain still throbbing in his chest. “Alright, no more of that, see? Back to regular examination.” 

Curt closed his eyes, tilting his head back. Owen went back to just running his hands over the bruises. It was nice, really. He had cold hands, so it felt soothing. Or maybe Curt had a fever. Whatever.

“Well, nothing’s broken,” Owen concluded. “You’ve definitely got a lot of bruising and at least one fracture, but I’m too scared of hurting you to check for more.”

“Hah. Scared of hurting me.” Curt snorted. “You never cared before.”

“You need to sleep sitting up for a while. I’ve got some painkillers, but you should wait a little while to take them. Try to breathe as deeply as you can, getting pneumonia is your real threat here.”

“Why do you care now?”

Owen swallowed. “I’ve always cared.”

“Sorry, but bullshit. You’re always so cold and distant with me. You clearly think I’m an idiot.”

“I don’t-”

“Jesus fuck, you _do._ ” Curt gestured to his chest, ignoring the pain it created. “ _This_ is what gets you to be nice to me? I’m pretty sure I said some stuff that would normally require a bigger reaction than this when we were in Ontario.”

“That was-”

“Yea, yea, just the alcohol talking, which is probably part of why you think I’m so dumb. Curt Mega, can’t even handle his emotions without alcohol.”

“Christ, would you let me finish?!” Owen shouted. He took a deep breath. “Curt. I don’t think you’re an idiot. I think that you’re… impulsive, but you can work past that. But we have a dangerous job, _and_ we work for different countries. I’m not allowed to get attached to you. I mean, what would you do if I died?”

“Care,” Curt said immediately. He didn’t think about it too much, but he knew somehow. No matter how much he disliked Owen, he’d become an important figure in his life. Was he just supposed to forget about that.

Owen didn’t seem to know how to respond. He shook his head. “My point is, it’s a lot easier to do this if I treat you how I wish I felt.”

“Why don’t you treat me how you actually feel?”

“I just explained all of that to you.”

“You’re not going to actually change your feelings by pretending. It’s just gonna look like it until something happens and I die or…” Something dawned on him. “Get hurt. Like right now. This whole situation is proof on how that can’t work. So just… I don’t know, act like a person with me.”

Owen pursed his lips. “Okay.”

Curt sighed. “Hey, thank you for checking my ribs. I’m sorry I freaked out about it in the car.”

“It’s fine. I was being too aggressive about it anyways.” Owen stood up. Curt realized that his hands had been on his chest all the way up until that point. “Remember; sit up. You can wake me up if you need anything.”

He nodded, moving to take off his shoes. He decided that putting his shirt back on was too much of a pain. It was just Owen, right? It didn’t matter.

Curt didn’t end up getting that much sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> bls do not follow any of the first aid used in this fic, i'm not a trained professional and also i made it shitty on purpose bc neither of this men know what they're doing. owen took one (1) first aid class and curt passed out during his.
> 
> anyways kudos are nice but comments are even better. go check out my contentless saf blog @spiesbian on tumblr. maybe ask me some questions or request some stuff.


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